One can hardly realize the grandeur of this scenery. Every turn of the river presents a different view: it is an ever varying kaleidoscope of natural beauty. Now we behold the mountains with their masses of foliage reaching to the very summits; now the charming village amid its vineyards, with its odd little church surrounded by picturesque frame houses with plain roofs and quaint gables. While sitting silently on deck gazing upon the old castles and ever changing scenes which border this beautiful body of water, I hear solemn tones proceeding from the belfry of an old church, and behold a little procession of mourners slowly following the hearse which is bearing the remains of some loved relative or friend to their final resting-place;—a pathetic little group walking sadly along through the drenching rain from the church to the burying ground.
One is compelled to notice here the numerous signs with huge letters emblazoned upon them, informing the passers-by that here are bottled popular waters of medicinal qualities. The tottering establishments are, I observe, close to the water’s edge, and whether or not the Rhine contributes the greater part in the composition of these famous waters is an open question. However it may be, the waters, or mineral springs, of genuine virtue or otherwise, are the source of a considerable profit in this region. Water as a beverage is seldom used by the Germans, for the light Rhine wines are to be had in perfection at a trifling cost.
| “Every turn of the river presents a different view.” (See page 303.) |
We glide along, passing island and vineyard, and castle crowned height, with now and then a wide curve in the river, which looks with its smiling face to-day much as it did centuries ago when the old strongholds reared up their piles of masonry in regal splendor, and noble retinues defiled down the narrow mountain paths to the water’s edge.
| “Thou, unchanged from year to year Gayly shalt play and glitter here; Amid young flowers and tender grass, Thine endless infancy shalt pass; And, singing down thy narrow glen, Shall mock the fading race of men.” |